


And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyoutani gets nervous, sometimes, about how Yahaba treats him so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Third-person subjective/limited POV, Kyoutani  
> Rated 'T' for language

Two hours drive there, two hours drive back. Kyoutani is so, so, so exhausted. 

He likes to play volleyball, he really does, but there are days when so much shit is happening and matches and practice and _practice matches_ layer themselves on top of that, and all the tension starts to gather at his jaw and in his temples and under his eyes, and the first-years are maybe a little more frightened than usual. 

On the bus, everybody’s talking and the radio’s playing and even the highway is making that awful rattle-hum, Kyoutani can feel the beginnings of a tension-headache-migraine (he isn’t sure what the difference is) forming. He looks to his seatmate, Yahaba, and the armrest-barrier between them. Yahaba looks a bit sleepy, scrolling through something (tapping occasionally) on his phone. Frankly, Kyoutani is surprised that Yahaba chose to sit with him, instead of Watari, or someone else. Not him. Thinking about it, Yahaba’s probably his closest friend on the team. Thinking about it, Yahaba’s probably his closest friend in the school, with how often (or not-often) they talk and everything. Kyoutani stops thinking about it. 

When he sits in the school courtyard during lunch, he can catch bits of whispered conversations about him from people he knows, people he doesn’t know. Most of the rumors are more-or-less untrue. He isn’t in a punk band, he doesn’t vape, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t drink shit; he’s never been arrested. When he’s not at practice, he just goes home to help out his mom and his grandma. He helps with dinner and chores and helps his grandma with her medication. The only times he’s gotten in trouble at school are when he hasn’t been able to study because he was taking care of his grandma, or when he hit a kid (the bastard was shit-talking his mom). He doesn’t dye his hair to fuck with the system or something like that, it’s just that he likes it. He’s probably more boring than he looks. _Mad dog-chan_. He’s never told his mom about that nickname, she already worries about his social life too much as it is. 

His headache’s getting worse now. He shoves his hands in his pockets and slumps into his seat. It had been a good match. It wasn’t tournament season yet, but the team they had played hard just the same. They were a mildly good team, and it was good practice, although Seijou had won most of the sets. Yahaba should be pleased. Kyoutani should be pleased too, probably, but right now he’s just that kind of gross-tired where the sweat has dried tight on your skin and he could eat a horse and then nap for ten-hundred-thousand years. Yahaba doesn’t look the same gross-tired, he looks like he smells like clean cotton and sleeps on top of a dandelion fluff. When he’s got Kyoutani’s collar bunched in his fist and he’s rebuking him, he has the same type of admirable strength and eloquence, but it’s different (somehow) under the passing glow from other headlights. 

The bus driver has turned the radio down and turned the lights off to probably suggest that they should be sleeping (Kyoutani has no idea what time it is). Despite this, the two first years sitting in the row ahead of Kyoutani and Yahaba still persist in their rowdy conversation. The weighty pressure in Kyoutani’s head begs him to close his eyes and rest, so he leans his head against the window and tries to sleep. Unfortunately, the shaking tremor of the bus makes his head bump painfully against the window. Great. 

“Hey, don’t do that. You’re gonna get a damn bruise on your head.” It’s Yahaba. _Thanks, Yahaba_. Kyoutani just grunts and puts his head in his hands. 

“Do you have a headache? I have some Advil in my bag, I’ll get it for you.” Yahaba again. Kyoutani’s a little surprised this time, watching Yahaba root around in his duffel until he produces a bottle. Kyoutani is more surprised when he doesn’t just toss him the whole thing, rather he shakes out two little brick-red pills and holds them out for Kyoutani to take. He’s a little more embarrassed, now, because that means that he has to touch the inside of Yahaba’s (soft) hand to pick them up. Which isn’t really a good thing, or a bad thing. It’s just…a thing. He gulps them down dry, hums a thank-you, and goes back to leaning his head against the window. 

“Hey, did you forget what I said?” Shit. He actually did. Kyoutani stares at Yahaba blankly until he speaks up again. 

“C’mon, let’s take a nap together. Here, it’ll be good for team morale, or something. C’mere, Kentarou.” Oh _fuck_. Oh, _shit_. Yahaba is still speaking to him (softly) but he can’t really hear because he’s tugging at Kyoutani until his head is pillowed on Yahaba’s shoulder and then Yahaba’s hand slips through the crook of his elbow and then he feels _good_ and Yahaba’s murmuring, telling him to close his eyes and he feels _wonderful_. Yahaba is warm and he does smell good and Kyoutani is feverishly extrapolating about _maybe Yahaba somehow found out about that weird fantasy Kyoutani has where Yahaba lets him wrap his arms around his waist (under his school blazer, above his neat, beige sweater-vest) and just bury his face in the knit fabric and sleep_. Kyoutani’s life must be fucked up, then, if his wildest, most shameful fantasies are about sleeping. 

When they wake up and it’s time to get off the bus, Yahaba pats his back roughly and compliments his performance in the match. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Title is from Robert Frost's poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  
> Also: Kyoutani is neurodivergent, surprise! ;)


End file.
